


An Honorable Agreement

by themummersfolly



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alien Culture, Childbirth, Culture Shock, Dark Elves, Dubious Consent, Extinction, F/M, Questionable Relationship Decisions, eventual NSFW, implied happy ending, just some space elves trying to survive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:41:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25173289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themummersfolly/pseuds/themummersfolly
Summary: “Is that what you take us for? Such monsters as Asgard says?” Desperate for the Dark Elves' future, Malekith resorts to some questionable methods to prevent their extinction. A war slave, brought back for this purpose, may prove to be more than a match for him.
Relationships: Malekith (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Malekith/OC
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

“Why did you bring us here?”  
Malekith sized up the woman standing before him. She wore a blanket wrapped over her skimpy slave market shift. Her hair was drawn back in a simple knot, the color of the darkness behind her. She stared gravely, even defiantly back at the king.  
“Why?”  
He didn’t answer immediately. “Do you know who we are?”  
“Dark Elves. You’ve been at war with Asgard.”  
“Indeed. Then you know – or have guessed by now – that my people are close to extinction.”  
“The auctioneer said something about breeding stock.”  
Malekith grimaced. “If you will it.”  
“We have a choice in the matter?”  
“Yes.”  
“You bought us from a slave market.”  
“My men will not force you. It is not our way.”  
“What if we say no?”  
“I suspect some of you will.”  
“Well, what then?”  
He paused, considering how much to tell her. “You are the leader of the women?”  
“I’m the oldest. And the only one with any military service.”  
“You are a soldier?”  
“I was. Got captured.”  
“And sold.”  
“Guess it was the worst thing they could think to do to me.”  
“The other women look to you, then.”  
“I’m the only one they have.” From the grip of her bare feet on the deck to the jut of her chin, her whole posture sent one message: I’ll die before I let you hurt them. Malekith nodded.  
“I will make a bargain with you, Chieftess: a year and a day. During that time those of your women who are willing may choose from my men to lie with. Any who bear children will be honored as mothers. They need not fear a lasting obligation; once the child is weaned, they may stay or go as they please.”  
“As long as the child stays here.”  
“That must be.”  
“And what about the others? What about those of us who don’t want to sleep with your troops? After a year and a day, what happens to us?”  
Malekith felt his neck tighten, willed his voice to stay free of irritation. “We let them go.”  
“Just like that? ‘Let go,’ does that mean let go at a port? Let go in the depths of space?”  
“We will let them go in the safest place we can manage, with as many supplies as we can spare.”  
Her jaw worked, as though she chewed on the idea; her gaze remained leveled at him. He waited for her answer.  
“How do I know you won’t back out?”  
He drew himself up, watching her down the length of his nose. She met his eyes.  
“I am Vörth Älfenäseel, King of the Dark Elves. I have spoken. That is how you know.”  
“I’ll hold you to it.” Robed like a beggar, desperate for the lives of a few slave girls in the hold behind her. Malekith had seen empires that did not defend their own so fiercely.  
“Tell your people.”  
“I will.”  
“And tell them: they are no longer slaves. Whether they stay or go, it is to be with honor. You and your women, Chieftess, carry the fate of my people within you.”  
She had begun to go; now she half turned back to face him. “What we carry within us is up to us.” Then she allowed herself to be escorted out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've noticed that the Chieftess doesn't seem to have a name... ding ding ding! She's supposed to be a reader-insert character and I loathe and despise the Y/N format.
> 
> Pretty sure moonship inspired a lot of my headcanons for the Dark Elves' culture. I tend to imagine that they are at least semi-matriarchal, and that acknowledgement of a child's paternity is the mother's decision. Therefore, committing rape in the name of procreation would be counter-intuitive to a Dark Elf, since the mother could just refuse to grant all forms of custody to the biological father. However, desperation leads to some weird and dubious situations...


	2. Chapter 2

She had fashioned a dress for herself by now, or maybe one had been found for her in a crate of new supplies. Malekith never asked; but the cloth looked suspiciously like the blankets the soldiers used. She moved with the faint awkwardness of one long used to armor and the garb of war, now suddenly clothed for peace.  
“You send for me every day,” she said. “Why.”  
“To eat.”  
“And?”  
“You are the leader of your people. It is fitting that you dine with me and tell me yourself how they fare.” The bland ration bars they ate could hardly be called dining. She watched him, hard-eyed, determined. Waiting for his next move.  
“I suppose I’m waiting for the pressure tactics to start.” She had grown impatient, had decided to act first. His grip tightened around the ration bar, and it crumbled in his hand.  
“Is that what you take us for? Such monsters as Asgard says?”  
She heard the sharpness in his voice and didn’t flinch. “I don’t care what you are. I care what you do. And that can change in a second.”  
“It could, were there not a will governing it.” He stood and turned away, gathering his patience again. Had she only been born to Harudheen, what a commander she’d have made, he thought, and then hopefully: might still make. And, intruding: were she of Harudheen, she would be long dead. And beneath it all, the thoughts he had been less and less able to suppress of late: a soft, strong body, willingly bared to him; her warmth and the smell of her, and that black hair falling against his chest…  
He shook himself, glanced back at her. Hunger had gotten the better of her and she picked at her ration bar, keeping him in the periphery of her vision.  
He took a breath and tried again.  
“Tell me about them. Are they in good health? Are they in good spirits? Tell yourself what you will, but their welfare concerns me.”  
She eyed him while she finished chewing. “Well. Guess it’s important to keep the brood mares healthy.” He didn’t react. “They’re alright, settling in. Some of your men introduced themselves today. They were polite,” she added.  
Malekith nodded. “And your women?”  
“Most of them were expecting to be sold to brothels,” she said by way of answer. “They’re not convinced this is any better.”  
“You can convince them.”  
“And you have to convince me! Pardon the hell out of me, but buying a bunch of slave girls for the sole purpose of getting them pregnant doesn’t sound like a honorable motive!”  
Now he clenched his fist. “Look around you, woman. Those you’ve seen on this ship – those are all that is left of my people. Our world is gone. Our families are gone. There are not enough left to carry on our kind.” He must not feel grief, only anger and the will to get the point across. He saw the shock in her eyes and tried to reign himself in. “There are no more of us. Even when I regain the Aether – even when Asgard falls – without help, we will be extinguished. Perhaps my methods were extreme, but I thought in you I had found that help.”  
He took a deep breath. She didn’t answer; for once, she didn’t even meet his eyes. Instead she stared at her ration wrapper, frowning as though it were a puzzle and she had underestimated its complexity.  
“A year and a day,” Malekith said at last. “I gave my word.” He stood and gestured the door open. The interview was over.

He didn’t send for her again. Three days later, she came to him unbidden in his quarters.  
“I’ve been talking to the girls,” she said without preamble. “To some of your men, too.”  
“Indeed.”  
Something in her tone had changed; it was softer, but her eyes were still wary. Malekith dared not reach out to her.  
“I think I understand better, now.” Then: “You had a family once.”  
He clenched his fists and turned away. Of all the barbs, he had not expected that one.  
A long silence passed between them.  
“I’m sorry.”  
Again, she said what he least expected. He turned back to face her. She stood staring at her folded arms, frowning.  
“What happened, happened. Is that why you came here?”  
“I need you to understand something.” She met his eyes. “I can’t replace them. I’m not her. My children won’t be them.”  
That much was obvious. Malekith nodded and waited for her to elaborate. Instead she took a deep breath.  
“Ok then.” She stepped toward him, drawing the hem of her skirt higher. “I’m resigned.”  
To his own surprise, Malekith put out a hand to stop her. “I do not want your resignation.”  
“And I do not want your extinction.” Another step, and his hand rested above her breasts, his fingertips at the base of her throat. “So, how do you want to do this –”  
He cut off all further discussion with a kiss. Lowering his lips to her throat, he moaned against her skin.  
“Wait.” She caught the hand that now cradled her neck, plucking at its covering. Malekith obliged her and undid the glove. “Touch me with your bare hands.”  
He was more than happy to oblige. Sliding them up beneath her skirt, he pulled her hips to his, bracing her against the wall. His hands trembled; hers, where they clung to his shoulders, did not. She had made up her mind: she would survive, and she would bring his people with her.


	3. Chapter 3

A year and a day had passed since the arrival of the women, and Malekith was a man of his word. But to his surprise no one accepted his offer of safe passage, not even the ones who had refused his men. They couldn’t leave their friends, they insisted; there were babies on the way, they would need support. And despite the resources they consumed, even the most timid girls were finding their places in the budding society, working alongside the crew, learning skills as medics and mechanics, researchers, even navigators. They were too valuable, and if they wished to stay, they stayed.  
A year and a day had passed, and the Chieftess gave birth. Malekith stood at the foot of the birthing bed where she lay, tired but composed, surrounded by the medics and younger women who had attended her. She allowed one of the men to lift a blanket-wrapped bundle from her arms and carry it to the king for inspection.  
Malekith kept his face neutral as the soldier laid the child in his arms. It’s a halfblood, he told himself. Likely too weak to live long, or too deformed to be allowed to live. He steeled himself against the disappointment, and drew back the blanket.  
The child was small, but proportional. As the cold air touched it, it began to flail its limbs and let out a thin wail. He noted it was a boy, not as lucky as a firstborn daughter, but acceptable. He counted fingers and toes, turned the child over to look for malformations of the spine or skull, gently pushed open the eyelids. Beneath the birthing blood and the white vernix, the boy was pale skinned, with a few strands of dark hair plastered to his head. Satisfied, Malekith tucked the blanket back in.  
“A healthy child,” he announced. “He shall live.” The occupants of the room breathed a collective sigh. He walked around the bed and placed the baby back in his mother’s arms, then sat down on the edge of the bed. The others busied themselves, giving the new parents some privacy.  
“You honor me, Mother of My Legacy. Your womb is opened, and now the men believe their own children will be born strong and healthy.”  
She stared down at the squirming child. “What will we name him?”  
Malekith blinked. “He is an infant.”  
“I noticed.” She frowned. “He still needs a name.”  
He looked from mother to child and back again. “That is your custom. We do not name a child until its twelfth year.”  
“Twelve? You wait until they’re twelve?”  
“By then they have begun to show what sort of person they will become. There is nothing worse a parent can give a child than an ill-fitting name.”  
“There are worse things.” She looked back at her son, who had fallen asleep. “What do you call him until he’s twelve?”  
“Lainih – my child, my son.”  
“How will he know when we’re calling to him and not one of the other children?”  
“Does a child not know the voices of his own mother and father?”  
They lapsed into silence. Malekith reached out and stroked his son’s head with one hand, brushed back a trailing strand of hair from his woman’s face with the other. She looked up at him.  
“What are we?” she breathed. “What am I to you?”  
“You are a barter-wife,” he replied. He had forgotten his voice could sound tender. “You brought forth a child to me. For that service, you have undying honor among my people, and a place among us for as long as you want it.”  
“Are we… are we family? Are we permanent?”  
It would be so easy to say yes.  
“No. When the child is weaned, your obligation is fulfilled. You will be free to go and do as you wish.”  
When his firstborn had come into the world, he had sat like this in the birthing bed until his wife had lain her head against his shoulder and he had watched them both in sleep. This was different, he told himself, he had asked enough of this woman already.  
“Issian,” she said.  
“Hm?”  
“His name is Issian. It was my grandfather’s name.”  
“Do not let the men hear you. It is unlucky to name a child so young.”  
“You don’t have to use it. But it’s his name.”  
He didn’t answer. When he looked up again from the child’s face, she was watching him.  
“What am I to you?” She shifted so the child lay as much in his arms as in hers. “Not to your culture – to you.”  
A frustration, a bitter reminder. A source of hope. Mother of his child, mother of his future. What name dared he give to what he felt for her?  
“You are something I do not understand. But I am grateful.”  
“When he’s weaned – what if I don’t want to leave? What if I’d rather stay?”  
A thrill ran through him; he would not show it. He adjusted his grip so the baby’s head rested in the crook of his arm. “He is far from being weaned.”  
She sighed and lay back, trapping his arm. He freed it, and she settled against his side.  
“Issian,” she murmured again, before laying her head against Malekith’s chest. Her breathing became slow and even.  
“If you wish it.” He rested his arm around her, and let her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of not naming the kid until he's twelve came from Tolkien's character Eol the Dark Elf. The homeworld of these Dark Elves seems like it was pretty harsh even before the war, and it makes sense culturally that they would hold off choosing a name until the risk of infant mortality was past. And twelve isn't all that old for an elf; they age more slowly, so a twelve-year-old elf would only look four or five years old to us.


	4. Epilogue

The patrol moved down the passageway, a rustling shadow in the darkness. If a human had been present, they would have seen only the white, streaming braids, the faint gleam of armor. They were geileel, warriors, and armed to the teeth; but this was no raid and they expected no danger. Their leader walked unmasked beside them, and two small children followed on his heels.  
The children were dressed like the warriors: black survival suits made to fit them, with miniature plates to mimic the adults and please a childish imagination. Their faces were sharp, like that of the man they trailed after, and pale as milk, but their hair was black as the darkness they moved through: long, with the locks before the ears braided to frame the face. Their eyes were grey within grey.  
Something moved in the shadows: some small animal, disturbed by the patrol’s passage. The older child grasped the younger’s hand defensively, raising the other before him in a guard. The little beast froze, sniffing, and stared back at them. After a long moment, it scuttled away to find a more secluded hiding spot.  
“Issian.” It was the leader, the tall, pale man with the braids of a king. “Ekkanen. Come.” He held out his hand, beckoning.  
“Yes, Father.” Hand in hand, they hurried after him, and disappeared into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, she stuck around and had another kid, and yes, she named him Ekkanen.


End file.
